


Metamorphosis

by orphan_account



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Adaptation, Culture Shock, Gay Male Character, Hair Brushing, Like jesus such a slow burn, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, ongoing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25291963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: As Runaan struggles with fitting into the Silvergrove, Ethari struggles with fitting into his new blacksmith's robes.
Relationships: Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Metamorphosis

Runaan was used to the sweeping arches of the towers in the vale and the dark oak of their battlements. The hard, sharp lines of the buildings and houses that he wandered through. The wrinkled, haggard faces of the old statues facing the library. He walked into the Silvergrove, waiting to see their familiar faces glaring at him with an empty eye, or two, if they were lucky. He certainly wasn’t expecting banners and cake, or friendly, soft eyes, or… anything here. He stared, confused, as people attempted to make casual banter with him. He watched in absolute horror as they rolled around on the floor, regardless of their age or stature. He sat in awe and fear as they drank and laughed and asked him questions freely. Their words and movements seemed so.. Free. So liberated. So… different. 

‘I don’t belong here.’

He sat, watching the ever-flickering stars twinkle like dying candles. It felt so wrong to be here, where the days blurred into nights, where the sweeping archways no longer existed, but small, winding doorways led the elves home. Where everyone knew and addressed each other by first name, not last, as Moira and the others did to him, even in their warmest moments. Where everyone pirouettes and sway to the music, even if they’ve had too much to drink, and they trip and sink giddily to the floor. Where everyone is invited for dinner, even if there are too many people to fit into the small, lacy house. Where they all just end up eating outside, laughter echoing into the trees and the mountains, reaching Runaan’s ears, even as he climbed hight to be above the steadily reddening, steadily hiccuping crowd. He curled up, shivering a little from the cold that filled his heart. His chest, freezing from the repeated gusts of wind, rose and fell shakily without him knowing why. 

“Why?” he asked, voice lost in the howling winds. “Why do they do this to themselves? Why don’t they act like Moonshadows?”

Longing filled his soul with a dull throb of pain, and he tucked his head deeper into his chest. Bitter blossomed on his tongue, and with a slight realization, he realized that perhaps he may have had a tad bit too much of that so-called ‘non-alcoholic’ ale. He sat up, stomach reeling, to send a bit of the food he had ingested back into the soils of Xadia.

‘I don’t belong here.’

\----------------------------------  
His head throbbed, buzzing in outrage at his code of conduct from the day before. He groaned quietly, shuffling towards the sink in his arboric apartment. He shook his head, snowy hair flying everywhere. I really should not have trusted that old trumpet-blower. He set himself down on the polished wooden floor and peered out of his window. He stared in bemusement at the little elflings playing some sort of elvish game many lengths below him. 

‘How I wish I could be like them, carefree and unafraid of whether or not my choices will change my career. Oh, what am I saying?’   
He growled inwardly at his own foolish words.   
‘I don’t need to be like them. I never wanted to be like that anyway.’

He sat up and stretched, listening keenly to the telltale pops of his joints cracking. He allowed himself a sigh of satisfaction, reminding himself of his first goal of the day: grooming.

The water ran down his face, dripping quietly from his place at the sink. He stared at his reflection. Tired, hungover turquoise eyes stared back. His unrestful sleep left him with sizeable eyebags, which hung lazily under his eyes like sideways crescent moons. His hair, usually pristine and well-groomed, hung like a halo around his whole visage. He exhaled sharply at his disheveled state.

‘I look like an ungroomed Shadowpaw. What would Moira think of me if I looked like this?’

He took out his trusty ivory comb. ‘It’s time to settle this mess.’

He began to run the comb through his mane, cursing as he undid knots and tangles from the mass of strands.

\-------------------------------  
Ethari knew that the new guy was different. The elf who told him about him very nicely informed him of that little tidbit of information. 

“That man really is something else. He’s got a big ego, and a snotty attitude to match!” 

Everyone else tried to laugh it off, but it hung there like a blanket over everything. They set up a party and a bunch of events in the hopes that he would participate, but he seemed determined to ignore it all. He slipped out of every necessary event with the swiftness of a nightfox, silent and sleek. He avoided answering every question the townspeople asked, even if they asked him a simple question about his past. He even tried to avoid drinking the renowned non-alcoholic ale from Talbard. He ended up drinking it in the end, but he still tipped the mug over when no one was looking, or at least, he believed no one was looking. Ethari groaned and flopped onto the bed, bemoaning the SIlvergrove’s rotten luck.

‘Come on! The one newcomer we’ve had in Lunaris knows how long was some sort of loner? Ugh, how exciting is that?’

He pulled himself upright, cracking his knuckles. 

‘Well, no time for moping. I’ve gotta go get ready for my apprenticeship.’

He slipped on his vestures with care and gentleness, careful not to pull on the delicate and smooth fabric. 

‘I wonder why Liard even wanted me to wear these. They seem so… fragile. So unlike me. Ah, well, beggars can’t be choosers.’

He brushed his hair quickly and checked his bag for all of his necessary possessions. 

‘All there and all set, thank Lunaris! I can’t afford to be late again!’

He rushed out of his apartment door, closing it with a gentle click. He half-ran, half-jogged down the stairs, hair and items bouncing with every footstep he took. As he reached the second-to-last floor, he noticed that the only unused room in the apartment appeared to be occupied. 

‘Since when was that room occupied?’ 

Curious, he decided to check it out.

‘It shouldn’t take too long. Liard wouldn’t notice a thing.’ 

He strode towards the door with confident purpose, that is, until a small growl came from within. Ethari almost yelped and took a step back from the door. He strained to hear any other noise from within, heart racing like an angry Moonstrider. 

‘Who- or what- is inside that room? The room hasn't been used for decades, especially not after-’

He was rudely snapped out of his reverie by another, slightly louder, growl. His curiosity fully peaked, he moved into the vicinity of the window. Heart in his throat, he gathered the little courage he had to peek his head over the windowsill to see...the new elf. He was trying to untangle a small knot in the very small of his back. Small curses and growls appeared to be coming from his mouth as he repeatedly failed to reach the knot, though Ethari heard no sound. Puzzled and intrigued, he moved in closer, wanting to see every feature of the new elf. 

‘I never got to see him up close.’ He stared unabashedly at him, drinking in every feature and every angular line and curve of his body. ‘Wow. I wonder if I get can get clos-’

Turquoise eyes met wandering brown, and Ethari’s mind went into red alert. He tensed up, fear flooding his senses like lead. The elf’s eyes narrowed and, even from his place at the windowsill, Ethari could feel the tension emanating from his body. He opened the door, a half-snarl painting his features. 

“Just what were you doing outside my apartment?” 

‘His voice sounds like liquid velvet, even though he’s angry. Oh Lunaris, save my soul-’ 

“Ahem.’ The sharp tone of his voice sent Ethari into a frenzy of panic.

Ethari yelped. “Oh I-I’m so sorry sir, I just saw you struggling with y-your hair, I just w-w-wanted to help you with it-” The new elf raised a snowy eyebrow. 

“Oh really? You wanted to help me with my hair, so you stared at me through my window? That doesn’t sound very helpful, you know.”

‘What is he trying to tell me?’

He smiled a bit from his place at the door. 

“Why don’t you help me with it then, in close proximity this time?”

Ethari’s mind had reached full meltdown at this point. 

‘A-a hot elf just invited me into his house? But he seemed angry earlier.. Is he mad, happy? Mappy? Oh, this guy is so hard to read, it’s driving me insane!’

He took a hesitant step forward, then another. The elf rolled his eyes. 

“You don’t need to walk that slow. I’m not going to murder you.”

An unsaid yet echoed through the air silently. Ethari shivered under the scrutiny of the sharpest eyes he had ever seen. 

“O-okay,” he stuttered. “I’ll be with you in a second.” 

The elf paused, then proceeded to return back into the depths of his room. Ethari took a shuddering breath, frantically trying to slow his heart rate down to a reasonable pace, then took his first step inside the mystery elf’s room. It was sparsely decorated, with some shipping boxes placed here and there in small, neat stacks. A line of weapons laid neatly in the bookshelves, no doubt waiting for the day their owner gets them a nice frame of sorts. A small rune- decorated carving lay on the folded and redone bed, but of what, he couldn’t tell. A small cough drew his eyes back to the elf himself. 

“Come with me.” He led Ethari into his bathroom. Unbeknownst to him, Ethari began to steam up a little.

‘I’m going into s-someone else’s bathroom? W-what… I-isn’t this indecent? Oh Lunaris…’ The elf looked back at him in slight puzzlement at his purpling face. “Are.. you alright?”

A small frown punctuated his words, but it only served to make Ethari’s blush a deeper shade of plum.

“I-I’m okay!” He squeaked. “I-I’ve just...never seen a bath this…” he searched desperately for a defining word. “Well-designed!” 

The man’s lips curved upwards a bit at the praise. “Thank you.”

Filled with confidence from the successful interaction, Ethari took a decent look around. The deep colors of the walls accentuated the colors of the phosphorescent moonstone runes in the walls. The carved mantles that guarded the bathtub and shower slumbered gently at their feet. His mirror and sink, plain compared to the ornately decorated room decor, was covered in a myriad of hair and facial care items. His eyes skimmed over the gentle, sweeping lines of his personal items. ‘Wow, his bathroom is so well decorated!’

As if he had heard his thoughts, the elf colored a little and scratched the back of his head in a subtle gesture of embarrassment. “It’s a bit… overdecorated for my tastes. The only thing I decorated myself was the outside room, the runes, and the sink. The elf who had this room last must have really liked decorating.” Ethari smiled a bit at that. “Yeah, Thoragr really did like carving. “

“So, will you be interested in helping me with my hair, or are you just going to look at my personal items?” The elf stared at Ethari, eyes boring holes into his chest.

Ethari was taken aback at the change in tone. “U-um, yeah, of course!”

He invited the elf to sit down on a stool. With trembling hands, he picked up the nearest comb and slowly began to brush the elf’s hair. The hair slid through the comb like silk, gently cascading down towards the floor as the comb lost contact with the long, shimmering strands. His hair, glistening like liquid moonlight, felt like gossamer to the touch. 

As Ethari continued to brush, transfixed, he saw that the elf’s eyes were beginning to flutter closed every once in a while, as if he was nodding off from his careful ministrations. He didn’t know how long he had been brushing- minutes, hours, days- before he saw the elf’s eyelids close fully. He continued brushing but began to move towards the hair framing his facial features. As he finished brushing, he stopped to stare at his handiwork and to get a closer look at the man’s features. A young, chiseled jawline ran straight like a ruler. His ears, drooping from relaxation, were elegantly pointy, as if Lunaris themself had molded them into the shape of arrowheads. His markings, royal blue and freshly painted, ran over his nose like rivers. Ethari was fascinated by his features. So entranced was he, that when the elf himself began to stir, Ethari was still staring at the elf in front of him. Turquoise eyes, sharp but relaxed, met brown once again. “Are you finished?”

Ethari yelped and pedaled back. “I-I’m sorry! I meant to wake you, but..” 

“It’s okay.” The elf’s features curved into a slight smile, but about what, Ethari couldn’t tell. 

“I believe we haven’t formally met. I’m Runaan. What is your name?” Ethari’s heart soared traitorously. He spoke past the lump in his throat as well as he could. “E-ethari. It’s nice to meet you, Runaan.” Runaan cleared his throat quietly. “I.. apologize for keeping you here for so long. This meant to be a short meeting, but..” He glanced outside at the sun’s position, frowning. “I do hope you didn’t have anything of importance to do today.” 

Ethari turned to look outside, confused, before a feeling of panic overtook his mind. “Oh no! My apprenticeship!” He hurried about, flailing awkwardly. 

“I’msorryIhavetogonowthanksseeyoutommorrowbye!”

Runaan smiled quietly at his antics. ‘Ah, an apprentice. Quite an.. interesting one as well. Maybe this town isn’t so bad after all.’ He looked outside again, this time with a smile painted delicately onto his features. The sound of sunny laughter and quiet piano music pealed over the sunny fields of Silvergrove once more.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I'm sorry


End file.
